


In The Shadow Of Versailles

by hips_of_steel



Series: Darwin [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Hetalia, M/M, WW1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:31:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: The time of war has reached its end. It's time to set the terms of peace.For Kyle, things are not simple. The first war is always the hardest. He's lost so much, yet gained something as well.But the shell shock of the war and the secrets he feels he must keep are eating away at him.Thankfully, he's not fighting this personal war alone.





	In The Shadow Of Versailles

**Author's Note:**

> Ta dah! Here it is, later than late! (April 6th ha ha ha who was I kidding? This thing wasn't even in a full first draft by ANZAC Day.)
> 
> June 28th marked both the 103rd anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and also the 98th anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Versailles. I was hoping to publish it that day, but then I was travelling so there went that plan.
> 
> So instead, we're here on July 4th, which is also an important date in the shared history of these two countries. In 1918, on July 4th, American soldiers fought in battle at Hamel under the command of Australian General John Monash. It was the first offensive of the war where Americans were under the command of a foreign general. To honor the American troops, the battle took place on July 4th. Together, the Americans and Aussies achieved victory in just 93 minutes. (Please go watch this amazing video to learn more: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZHlO0Sj3lA).
> 
> There are some Google Translate translations into Turkish in this work. I have provided what is supposedly the translation in English next to them in italics, but if you speak/read Turkish and see glaringly obvious errors... I blame Google.

Kyle woke up in the early hours before dawn, panting and out of breath as he sat up. The final scenes of his nightmare were playing through his brain, making every moment a living hell.

_“GET DOWN!” Avery screamed._

_A shove to the ground._

_Those five cursed gunshots. Avery falling. His own desperate scramble to reach his sibling._

_Blood, blood everywhere. No rise and fall to that slim chest. Only more blood._

_Eyes open, a haunting shade of pale green, staring in death at their brother._

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice rising out of the darkness from the other side of the bed slowed his heartrate. It took a few seconds for Kyle to respond as the memories slowly abated, but finally he found his voice.

“Yeah. Just a nightmare.” He murmured.

“Gallipoli?”

Kyle didn’t even need to answer. A soft nod was all he gave, his eyes falling towards his knees, arms wrapping around them as he pulled them to his chest, just trying to breathe.

His companion sat up, leaning over and wrapping his larger body around him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ll make sure those nightmares know whose gonna kick their ass.”

Kyle tries to laugh, but the wounds are still to fresh, the war too recent.

They’ve been at peace for a few weeks, barely even a month. Soon enough, 1919 will be here, and the peace talks will begin. French trenches will soon be his past. He can start over anew in his own homeland.

But for now, it is 1918. It’s a time of mourning. A time to make sure his troops get home.

A time to try and finish growing up after having experienced his first independent war.

He finally unwraps his arms from his own legs and turns into the embrace. Alfred’s smiling as he does that, but his eyes are worried. Worry doesn’t belong on that face, but Kyle doesn’t know how to take it away.

So he does the next best thing. He decides to forget it for a few moments. No more, no less. Just long enough for it to fade into the background.

It’s a small kiss, gentle and sweet, and Alfred responds eagerly. The fears and aches are forgotten for a few seconds.

Until Alfred, lifting his hand to Kyle’s face, accidentally brushes his thumb against his nose.

Kyle almost yelps as he yanks back, the skin still far too tender from years of being an open wound, and Alfred swears.

“Shit! Ky, I-”

But the tender moment is ruined, and they both know it.

“It’s okay. I probably should get back to my room, anyhow. Old England will probably be wandering around in the morning and want to check up on the Kiwi and me. Don’t want him to think me missing only for me to stumble out of here right in front of him.”

“You still haven’t told him?” Alfred asks as Kyle begins to move away.

“Why should I? We’re a new couple. My government still relies on his. He could easily force me away from you.” Kyle said with a sigh. He didn’t want to imagine the anger written in every inch of Arthur’s face, the outright refusal to accept this relationship, the threats that would come when he learned of it.

America mumbles a few foul words under his breath. Somehow, the pommy bastard had started to open up to Alfred again in the aftermath of this war, but Kyle expects those friendly feelings would disappear rather fast if Arthur found out that his two former colonies had become a couple so soon after Kyle’s independence. And as a commonwealth nation, he needed to keep his own ties with Arthur from cooling more than they already had. His people were angry over Gallipoli and the choices the British had made to keep them there. He didn’t need to add ‘Refusal to let me date America’ to his growing list of grudges.

“Besides, have you told Matthew?” Kyle asked, bringing up the American’s sore spot. Alfred had originally planned to tell the Canadian as soon as possible, but had apparently, for once, failed to find the words.

“Um, yeah. He kinda caught me slipping back to my room the other night from that anteroom...”

Kyle felt his whole body stiffen, and turned in shock and surprise.

“He promised to keep quiet, Ky. He won’t tell the Brit.” Alfred quickly reassured. “But he had suspicions apparently, so he wasn’t that surprised. Says he guessed we might have been thinking about it when the letters started flying back and forth at the base.”

“So we’ve now told Zea, Fran, and Mattie. And at some point, we have to tell Art.”

“We didn’t really tell France so much as-”

“He walked in on us admitting our feelings, in a manner of speaking. Technicalities.”

“I suppose. Kyle, I can tell him if you really don’t want too. I think he’ll accept it.” Alfred tried to add, a comforting tone in his voice that only made Kyle feel more strongly that he had made the right choice when it came to loving this man.

But he had a few more excuses up his sleeve, and he pulled out a rather practical one right now.

“No, not until my Prime Minister is aware that this is coming. I don’t want Art to fly into a rage and just blindsiding the poor man with this. Just… it’s barely been a year, Alfred, and we’re semi-immortal. Give me a few more months.”

Alfred nodded, although he seemed disappointed, and Kyle picked his pants off the floor, shaking his head.

For a first relationship that had developed in the middle of a war, this was getting…

Rather intense…

This wasn’t Alfred’s first relationship, but he was fairly sure it was his…

Fairly sure…

_Walking through the deserts with his people, old and yet forever young, always on walkabout. Chattering to girls who came on boats from distant lands, running and playing with them, occasionally travelling to their homelands, once heading east and encountering a young child like him, designs painted on their face, calling themselves Anaru._

He had frozen up again. He heard Alfred start to move, worried. “Kyle, are you alright?”

“Sorry mate, just lost in thought… you seen my shirt?”

It came flying for him, and Kyle snatched it out of the air. “Thanks.”

Alfred seemed to want to say something else, but Kyle opened the door, and when he saw the coast was clear, he bolted for his room.

Avery only rolled over when he opened the door and yanked it shut behind him. “Be quieter next time.” They mumbled, going back to sleep within seconds.

Kyle nodded, but another part of him, one he hadn’t even realized was still panicking, calmed down at the sight of Avery’s living body, breathing calmly, eyes closed in slumber, cheeks colored with the light of life.

He waited for New Zealand to start snoring again, and then sat on the edge of Avery’s bed, reaching out a hand and stroking those woolen locks.

“Sleep tight, sibling.” He finally says, before slipping into his own bed and trying to get another hour of sleep before the pommy woke them up for breakfast.

***

Breakfast was an interesting affair in Versailles. The other Allied Powers sat as Canada and France cooked stacks of food, chatting quietly and discussing the plans for peace.

Australia found himself next to Scotland this morning, who looked at him with worried eyes as he slouched over the table, tired and ready for another hour of rest.

“Are ya getting enough sleep, laddie?”

“I’m sleeping fine.” Kyle said, picking at a biscuit Arthur had given him to ‘hold him over’ until their real breakfast was done. Of course, no one was actually eating theirs besides England, although America seemed to be hungry enough that he was getting ready to. Japan and England were chatting at the head of the table, likely discussing territorial claims over the islands Japan had seized during the course of the war, while Belgium watched from behind a newspaper.

Scotland raised an eyebrow and then glanced towards New Zealand, busily napping on Wales’s shoulder where England wouldn’t see them. “I know for a fact they’ve been getting more sleep than you, laddie, and it still hasn’t been enough.”

There’s a long silence. Kyle wonders if Alasdair is referring to his sneaking out, but then he realizes that Alasdair sits next to Wales in every meeting to plan the peace talks, meaning that if Zea sleeps through it, he sees everything.

Kyle, of course, has taken to sitting between France and America, the American’s threatening glances keeping the Frenchman quiet about their clasped hands or something similar.

Kyle finally nods in embarrassment, and Alasdair turns when he hears a shout in French from the kitchen. “Looks like Fran wants some help serving breakfast. Stay here.”

Soon enough, Francis and Alasdair were carrying in plates of food while Matthew loaded the plates in the kitchen, until all the Allies were laughing and dining over pancakes and such.

***

“Alright, the talks will begin on the third of January between us personifications.” England announced, looking quite tired after his hour-long marathon in the German language over the phone. “Damn Prussian refused to use a translator over the phone, and I’m more proficient in German than he is in English.” He muttered to no one in particular, although Scotland did roll his eyes at that.

Australia got the sense he was going to hear some very loud complaining in Scots Gaelic and quieter complaining in Welsh later openly in front of England, since he couldn’t be bothered to remember those two languages from his own homeland most of the time, whereas Alasdair and Owen knew each other’s languages flawlessly.

Kyle absentmindedly wondered how Siobhan was doing. Independent at last, not that she was at peace yet. Alasdair seemed concerned though, and watched England like a hawk any time anyone spoke of the Irish troops that had valiantly served.

England had the distinct look of having eaten an entire lemon in one bite when anyone said anything along those lines.

Kyle turned his attention back to England’s words.

“-and as he has negotiated a separate peace with Germany already, Ivan will not be joining us.”

Australia noticed a sudden flash of concern in Matthew’s eyes, but Alfred beat him to the punch.

“What? But Germany has lost! We need Russia at the table when we discuss peace-”

“Alfred, you saw the mess he was in when he left. He’s losing everything left and right, including himself.”

Kyle saw something angry flash in Alfred’s eyes, and then a flash of sympathy towards Matthew. Kyle wondered why everyone had been looking at Matthew with worry every time they mentioned Ivan-

Oh.

_Oh._

_OH!_

He realized it made sense in a fashion. Before Alfred had bought Alaska, they would have been neighbors in the wilderness, and Matthew, often forgotten by England, and negotiating for his freedom at that point, would have found it easy to slip away. And Ivan always had been fond of the Canadian…

And England was apparently the most oblivious man in the entire world if the sympathetic looks everyone was giving Matthew was any indication.

Of course, Scotland was giving him a bit of a side eye, and he realized that he was standing right next to America, almost reaching out for him. He had partially stepped forward, and his arm had started to extend.

He let his arm rapidly fall, and Kyle stepped back, heading towards New Zealand. Avery glanced up in surprise until they saw a pointed glance at Alasdair, who was now watching both of them.

New Zealand waved, and Scotland turned his gaze away. Australia felt himself relax. Now next to his sibling, he was free to ask the question he wished to ask.

“Avery, are Ivan and Matthew…?”

“Not sure. But let’s check on him later.”

Kyle nodded.

The meeting continued after the phone call as they sat and discussed the general ideas of what they knew needed to happen. It was going fine until England turned towards the two southern nations.

“Kyle, Avery, we will need you to provide testimony on the events of Gallipoli.”

It was as if all the life had suddenly left the room.

“What?” Kyle managed to get out, his voice almost cracking on the words.

“Sadiq will be responding to the summons as he is required to do. The events of Gallipoli need to be recorded for the history of our kind, and-”

Francis tried to stop Arthur, seeing the way the young nation was bristling, but he was too late.

“You wish me to speak of my deaths at that cursed place with everyone here to witness it?” Kyle growled, his voice low. “You wish for me to speak of the thousands of my men you threw at that battle in a practice of futility?”

Arthur realized his mistake, and tried to backpedal. “We must know if any crimes were committed against our own kind-”

“OUR OWN KIND? ARE WE NOT AS HUMAN AS OUR MEN AND WOMEN WHO DIED ON THAT FIELD?! I WOULD RATHER DIE FOR EACH OF THOSE MEN THEN HAVE TO FACE THEIR MOTHERS AND TELL THEM THEY DIED FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN YOUR DAMNED PRIDE!”

The room was silent, and Avery reached out to Kyle. “Brother?”

Kyle snarled, glaring at England and not acknowledging New Zealand. “You may still be the man who raised me, but if any committed a crime in Gallipoli, it was not Sadiq. It was you!”

And then he turned and left the room, muttering and snarling as he dashed through Versailles, ignoring the chorus of concerned voices rising up behind him.

***

Scotland found him in the garden a few hours later as it got dark, busily working his way through a pack of cigarettes.

“You’ve worried the little brat. He’s fussing up a storm. Francis told him you’d come back soon enough, but he’s just stopped short of organizing a search party.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “So how’d you find me?”

“You might recall that I did spend about four hundred years married to Francis, right? And then even when it ended, I spent a lot of time here visiting him. I watched Versailles built. Besides, I figured you’d be looking for a quiet place to smoke, since Fran throws a fit if you do it inside, so I waited to see the smoke trail from the garden.”

Kyle snorted, leaning back. “Need a light?” He asked when he saw Alasdair pull out one of his own cigarettes.

“It’d be appreciated, lad.”

Kyle offered the end of his cigarette out to Scotland, who lit his own on it. After he had taken a long inhale, he sighed in satisfaction.

“That brat is wearing you ragged, lad. I know how you feel. He’s commanding you like you’re still his colony, and he’s forced you to do terrible things to your people. You never took orders well, and you’re not a child anymore. Yet he’s still treating you like one. No one would blame you if you gave your testimony in written form.”

“I don’t want to give it at all. I died out there, Alasdair. I died dozens of times. I… I don’t want to remember that again. I feel it enough every time the cut on my nose aches, every time I dream at night. Every time I… Every time I can’t see the rise and fall of Zea’s chest at night…”

Arms wrap around him gently, and he leaned into those arms that had always comforted him when he was a small colony, smelling the smoke and whiskey and highland air on Scotland.

There’s soft murmuring in Gaelic, hands stroking his hair. He grinds out his cigarette and sighs, until he’s almost half asleep in the Scotsman’s lap.

“The first war’s always the hardest.” Alasdair offers.

“I hate him sometimes, ya know?” Kyle finally mutters tiredly as gloved hands brush over his hair.

A chuckle. “I know.”

There’s the sound of movement, and then both look up to see Wales and New Zealand enter the grove, coming around the corner and into sight.

“Arthur’s throwing a bloody fit in there. It’d be best if you both get back as swiftly as you can, before he has your hides for this.” Owen said, and Alasdair nodded.

They both rose to their feet, and Kyle walked forward to speak to Avery.

“Are you doing alright?”

“I don’t want to testify, Zea. I don’t want to talk about it.”

They nod, and then takes his hand. “Don’t worry then. I’ll deliver testimony for both of us.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that, Zea-”

Avery silenced him with a glance. “You weren’t the only one who had to deal with the death of another at Gallipoli, Kyle. I need to talk about it.”

Kyle couldn’t meet those accusing eyes, ones full of pain. He hadn’t even thought of it at the time, but he remembered how they had returned to Europe. Scotland and Wales had been tending to him, but it had not been their gentle care that had pulled him out of his almost catatonic state.

_Wales had been sitting in there one night, attempting to comfort Kyle, who was shaking in fear and fright as a thunderstorm rolled past outside. The door in the house had went flying open, and New Zealand had come storming in._

_New Zealand had come past Wales, who was protesting, and half pulled Kyle to his feet. “Stop this! Goddamnit, Kyle, stop this at once!”_

_He had stood there, shivering. “The Turks…”_

_“The Turks aren’t here! I’m here! I’m alive! You’re alive!”_

_Kyle stared at Avery blankly, then then touched the place on their head. “You were shot-”_

_Avery shoved him back onto the bed. “Yes! Here, here, here, here, and finally here!” They screamed, gesturing to each spot where the bullet had landed in their chest, and then their head. “And that was once! Only once! I had to watch you get shot here-” A hand landed on his chest. “-and here-” His abdomen “-and here-” His arms “-and here-” His legs “-and here!” They cradled Kyle’s head in their hands. “So many times. So many times that I lost track of where they hit! I watched explosives rip you in half, your body desperately trying to sew itself back together in the desert heat. I watched you die so that I could live! If you had been human- if you had been human- God, I was so afraid! Every single time! Every single time, I had to believe that your body could still heal. And every time I thought I had seen your last smile… I had seen your green eyes for the last time… Heard your last laugh… I cried over your body so many times, terrified it was going to be your last resurrection. And then your stupid eyes would open up again, and less than a week later, we’d be right back in the same place, you dead once more, your face grey… no breath…”_

_Kyle stared in shock._

_Avery looked up, their green eyes swimming in tears._

_“I know how you felt on that day when I died, because I felt it every single time you got yourself shot! I felt it every single day at Gallipoli! And yet I’m still standing! And I’m the one that has to pick you up and keeping you going! I faced what you faced every day! And yet… And yet I don’t get to grieve for you. I have to keep you going! I have to keep going after dozens of your deaths because you can’t after one of mine.”_

_It had been that moment that had forced Kyle to come with grips over what had happened. He kept going, because if he stopped, Zea wasn’t going to be far behind._

_And so when England offered to send him home, Kyle shook his head. “I stay with Zea.”_

Zea squeezed his hand tightly, dragging him back to the present. “I’ll testify. Besides, you’re right. Sadiq didn’t do anything to us personally. We won’t have to worry about him.”

“And what about _him_?” Kyle hissed bitterly.

Avery’s eyes lowered towards the ground. “We followed him to war. We fought on the same side. There’s nothing we can do to him. But if it’s any comfort, he’s suffering because of Ireland, so at least payback’s a bitch.”

Behind them, Wales and Scotland burst out laughing, and they turned, but the two brothers weren’t paying any attention to them, bantering back and forth in Welsh and Gaelic and clearly teasing each other.

Avery rolled their eyes, turning forward once more. “Those two…”

Kyle smiled a little. It made him feel like the world was alright. There was always a sibling to turn to for comfort and friendship.

England, of course, threw an absolute fit when he saw Kyle, and the Australian chose a nice painting behind the pommy to focus on, occasionally nodding until England had thrown enough verbal abuse to think he had gotten his point across to his bellicose commonwealth nation.

Avery rolled their eyes when he stepped out of the room where he had been yelled at. “So, how much did you actually hear?”

“Kyle David Kirkland, personification of Australia… yada yada yada… I guess you’ve learned your lesson.”

Avery’s laughter filled the hall, and Kyle grinned.

“Come on, let’s go get dinner before Francis decides to also get angry at us.”

“Now you’re talking.”

***

Christmas came in Versailles like a wild event. Francis forced the other nations to help him decorate like a madman, making it even harder for Kyle to sneak into Alfred’s room and back to his own, with garlands and holly and lord only knew what else filling the hallways.

Avery just laughed at Kyle’s pent up frustrations.

“Shut up, Kiwi. Not like you’ve got anyone you’re sneaking out to see.”

“Oh? And how would you know that?” Avery asked, their eyes sparkling.

Kyle turned and glared, causing another round of laughter from the Kiwi.

“Fuck you.” He muttered, after opening the door only for a garland full of bells to startle him, and then cause much frustrated and quiet swearing.

Luckily, not even France could decorate the entire palace, and there were always a few small spaces to pull yourself into with room for another.

Kyle grinned as Alfred, also tired of being penned up at night, shoved him into one of these rooms. “What do ya need, Yank?” He said with a laugh.

“You.”

Soon enough, they had discarded nearly all of their clothing, bodies pressed together, appreciative little pants and moans, any chill in the room disappearing as the heat of their bodies rose…

Until they heard shouts coming down the hall.

“But he’s not supposed to be here! You said yourself-”

“Damnit, Alasdair!” England’s voice cut through the door, sharp, and bringing them both out of their trance. “Ivan shouldn’t be here! But he’s wounded, and Matthew’s gone god only knows where, and I… I don’t know how to undo what he did to himself! Alfred’s got the most recent experience with a civil war! He might be able to help. Avery said he was wandering this way last time someone saw him!”

Footsteps rushed by, and Alfred looked confused, but Kyle made the choice for him.

“Ivan is Mattie’s lover, isn’t he?” He asked quietly.

Alfred turned, and nodded.

Kyle pulled away, grabbing his clothes. “Alright, let’s go see what’s happening. That’s your shirt. Hurry!”

Alfred and Kyle stumbled out of the closet once they were dressed and rushed after the others.

“ARTHUR! ARTHUR!” Alfred shouted, and soon the Brit came back into view, Scotland right behind him.

“Alfred! Thank God! Ivan’s here. He’s… He’s badly hurt from his civil war. We need help now, and Matthew is out on the grounds, and we can’t find him-”

“Less talk, more show!” The American commanded, and they followed England quickly.

The four ran to a room, where France was nervously standing outside, almost biting his nails off in stress. There was a scream from inside, and he turned when he saw them come running up.

“Oh, Angleterre, he hasn’t stopped screaming…” Francis said, obviously distressed, and England didn’t even try to pretend to be aloof, pulling the Frenchman into his embrace in seconds.

Alfred turned to Kyle. “Oz, I need you to come in. I might need help.”

“But I-”

There was a fast look from the American, one that demanded he be obeyed. Kyle remembered a long scar on his waist, going all the way around his back, from his own civil war.

_“I tried to cut myself in half.”_ He had explained when he finally felt comfortable enough to tell him how he had gotten his scars.

Kyle took a deep breath, nodded, and then they both stepped into the room.

Ivan was laying on the bed, thrashing in pain and covered in sweat. His coat had been torn away, and through the shirt and sweater he was wearing, a hole had been torn.

But it didn’t stop at his skin.

Kyle stood there in shock, unsure what to do. He had seen men with injuries like this in the trenches.

But none of them were still living.

Alfred rushed to the bed, pinning Ivan down with his superhuman strength. “IVAN! VANYA, TALK TO ME!”

Ivan’s eyes met Alfred’s for a second, fear in them, and not an ounce of lucidity. “Ma-Matvey?”

“No, it’s Fredka! We’re trying to find Matvey right now!”

Kyle felt himself about to be sick, and Alfred glanced at him. He must have seen that the Aussie wasn’t going to be able to help him in here, so speaking low, he gave a command. “Find Matthew. Now!”

Kyle nodded, stumbling out.

France, England, and Scotland stared at him.

“He… He needs Matthew… Immediately…” An overwhelming urge that he had been forcing down for almost four years, since the moment he had landed on Gallipoli’s shores, came over him.

Scotland must have seen it coming, because when Kyle finally felt himself retch, there was something there to catch the bile, and a hand was rubbing against his back while a calm voice spoke.

“It’s alright, laddie. No one’s expecting heroics…”

Soon enough, Wales was there with Canada, Matthew walking in, and then there was some fast discussion in French, one with a quite noticeable Cajun accent, the other Quebecois. Kyle wondered if it was solely to spare him, since even England remembered enough French to piece together what was being said, given the look of horror on his face. Scotland, Wales, and France also looked horrified as another painful scream rose from the room.

Kyle stood up, against Scotland’s advice, and even Wales tried to stop him, but he stumbled to the door.

There was a loud scream, and then silence.

He opened the door.

Canada was holding Russia’s hand, tears streaming down his face as Ivan’s whole body fell limp, blood getting all over the fancy French upholstery and all three of the men in the room.

And Alfred, looking a little sick himself, held a heart in his hands. Ivan’s heart, taken from his chest to stop the pain he was in and give him a respite from his pain through waiting for resurrection.

He glanced up at Kyle, but Kyle didn’t think Alfred saw him, and then past Kyle, towards England.

“We need a needle and thread, and any medical supplies you can gather.”

Kyle was frozen there, until Wales pulled him away. “Here, Kyle. Let’s… let’s go get some hot drinks.”

Kyle nodded, numb, and followed Owen.

***

The last few days before Christmas passed in a quiet hush. Alfred and Matthew had sewn Ivan’s heart back into his chest from where he had ripped it out, but it had taken three days for him to resurrect, and he hadn’t woken up since his heart had begun to beat again.

And even oblivious England now knew Matthew’s secret.

Matthew refused to leave Ivan’s room to eat or sleep, and when he did occasionally close his eyes and rest, his hand was tightly around Ivan’s the whole time, waiting for him to wake up. They had to go upstairs and monitor Matthew to make sure he didn’t do something stupid.

It was when Kyle was going up for his shift that he heard England speaking.

“How long?”

“Since 1862. But… He never touched me until I was independent. He knew I was your colony, and therefore off limits.”

“Oh, Matthew, if I had known…”

“You would have reacted badly.” Matthew responded. “It’s the reason we hide these things from you. We’re scared?”

“We?”

Matthew didn’t answer, and England finally sighed. “Alright. I won’t pry. Just get some sleep tonight, alright? Kyle should be up for a while soon, and then Francis.”

Kyle waited a few seconds, and then knocked at the door. Arthur opened it, tired.

“Kyle, I-” He began, and then his words faltered.

Tensions were still running high between them. Kyle finally stepped past.

“Wait until you have the right words, old man.” He muttered. “Until then, I’m not ready.”

It was a swift rebuttal. Kyle had bigger priorities.

He sat next to Matthew, tired and slumped over Ivan. His chest was rising and falling, and when Kyle grabbed a small mirror and brought it close to Ivan’s face, he could see the breath causing fog. But taking Ivan’s other wrist and checking for a pulse, it seemed off rhythm and irregular, the same as it had since he had resurrected.

Canada finally spoke.

“I… I asked Alfred to speak to China. China said… he said he might not make it. And if he does… He’s never going to be the same.”

“Has anyone talked to his sisters?”

Matthew shook his head. “They’re scared. I expect they’re in hiding. Our war and his civil war has given them plenty of reason to hide.”

There was a long silence.

“Kyle… how did you… how did you survive Gallipoli? Losing Avery?”

“Matthew…” Kyle began, and then faltered. “They came back within a day. I… I didn’t experience this.”

“I know, I just…” His voice faded away, and a strangled sob escaped him. “Goddamnit! I- I need him! The stupid, noble, fucking extravagant bastard!”

Canada had stood up and kicked the bedframe, letting go of Ivan’s hand and growling. He started pacing, frustrated and on edge.

Kyle had never quite seen Matthew like this before.

“I do everything you’re supposed to do! I do everything! And whatever forces, whatever will governs us! It might still take him away!”

Finally, he slumped against a wall, sobbing.

“What did we do that deserved this? Oh God, what sins did we commit?”

Kyle stood there in confusion, and finally Matthew collapsed from exhaustion.

Matthew wasn’t in the best shape after the end of the war, but neither was Kyle. It was a difficult feat, but Kyle managed to carefully push Ivan over to one side of the bed, and then get Matthew into the other half, covering them both with the blanket.

Cautiously, he pulled back the blankets for a moment, and then the bandages covering Ivan’s chest.

He gently set a hand where the skin had been sewn back together by Matthew’s deft hands. He wondered how the Canadian had been able to hold the needle and thread steady, and if Alfred had had to take it from him occasionally when he had to stop and breathe through the sobs.

It was softer there than it should be. The bones had not grown back.

Russia would carry this wound forever, his heart vulnerable and open to attack.

When France came to take a shift, he sighed as he saw the sleeping pair. Kyle nodded, and then headed downstairs.

Alfred was waiting for him.

There was nothing that needed to be said. Kyle leaned into him, not caring if anyone saw them in this moment. Alfred stroked his hair, and then they walked to his bedroom.

_What sins did we commit?_

Sometimes Kyle really wondered.

***

Christmas was quiet. Everyone had tried to give each other cute little gifts, but the mood was soured by the knowledge both that their peaceful rest would soon be at an end with the negotiation of the peace treaty and that Matthew was still waiting for Ivan to wake up.

However, Kyle was glad someone had convinced England that small enchanted items were better than cookies.

Speaking of cookies, Alfred was chewing on an ANZAC biscuit.

“It’s dry.” He complained, disappointed in his gift from the pair.

Avery snorted. “And how else would it survive such a long journey and still be edible?”

“You have water or milk, Al. You can dip them in either if you wish for a soggy cookie.” Kyle added, and the American sighed.

“I buy you guys the finest Hershey’s Chocolate, and you give me dry cookies.”

Avery stuck out his tongue, and Kyle laughed.

For a moment, the tension had eased as everyone exchanged gifts, including bottles of beer from Belgium which England looked perhaps a little too eager about.

But that moment didn’t last very long.

There was shouting, loud and surprised, and then rapid Quebecois French came shrieking down the stairs.

Kyle caught exactly one word.

_“Ivan!”_

Rushing upstairs, they found a shattered vase, Matthew pressed against a wall in shock, and Ivan looking half terrified as he stared at his own hands.

Alfred quickly took charge, stepping between his brother and Russia. “Ivan… Did you throw that?”

“I… Fredka, I don’t know why I did… I didn’t mean to scare Matvey…”

“Matt, you okay?” Alfred asked, not turning away from Ivan.

Matthew nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just startled.”

Alfred sighed. “Alright. Everyone clear out. The three of us need to have a discussion.”

***

Alfred stumbled out of the room hours later, and Kyle went right to him, having waited near the edge of the hall alone.

“Al?”

“Oh god, Kyle… The last thing he can remember… The last thing he can remember was in July. He’s been wandering lost since July! He’s been out of it for almost six months…” Alfred groaned, sitting down. “Even during the disorientation and the pain… I was never out of it for so long. I…” Alfred sighed, looking years older than he should. “Matthew is terrified that he’s going to hurt himself, he’s terrified he’s going to hurt Matthew. Because sometimes in a civil war, you… you just lose all your senses and… And you end up hurting the people you love.”

Kyle sat, taking his hand. “I’m sorry… I… I don’t know what to say-”

“You don’t need to say anything.” Alfred said, taking his hand.

The grip was firm, and Kyle sat down. Alfred leaned into him, sighing.

“I… I never want to be that powerless again. And I hope you never are, Kyle. Civil war… It’s worse than any other type of war. You just feel yourself being pulled in a dozen different directions, and it doesn’t stop. It aches for years to come, decades even. And Ivan… I don’t think with an injury that bad that it’s not going to be a few years. I think it will be decades. Maybe even centuries.”

There’s silence, and then footsteps, but Kyle doesn’t move. Scotland comes in, and glances at them. America has shut his eyes, just breathing.

Kyle glances at Scotland.

In a way, he’s always personally felt a closer connection to Scot than to Arthur, and he knows that Scot holds a begrudging bit of affection towards him, not that he’ll ever admit it, of course. And Scotland is the type to learn something and keep quiet.

He glances at their hands, and then sighs, turning and knocking on the door to Russia and Canada’s room. Matthew tiredly opens it.

“Fran wanted to know if you’d like dinner brought up here.”

“Yes. Thank you, Alasdair.” Matthew says, and then closes the door.

Scotland looks back towards them again, and then sighs. “Alright, lads. Food’s downstairs. Let’s not get Art up here and in everyone’s face.”

***

Dinner is silent. America almost picks at his food, and Avery sighs next to Kyle.

This happy day has been marred. No one knows what to do.

Then suddenly, seizing control, Wales stands. Next to him, Belgium also rises. They were clearly discussing this.

“A toast. To our brave soldiers, our men and women! To us, the Allied Powers! We’ve survived, and we’ve won!” He called out, and he and Belgium clinked their glasses together.

Japan cautiously rose and joined in, only to be kissed by Belgium on the cheek, which made him turn red and sit back down. Alfred, looking up at the right moment, laughed.

“Ah, don’t be shy Kiku! I’ll just clink glasses with you. No kisses, I promise.”

Francis laughs and Alasdair roars as this just turns Japan even redder, and Arthur quietly clinks his glass with Japan’s, muttering about fools. Avery laughs, and Kyle grabs his beer and soon, the mood changes.

They eat their meals, laughing together and drinking until calling any of them sober is simply impossible. Even Japan’s cheeks are now flushed with color from the sake he brought rather than embarrassment.

Up above the partying allies, two of their number quietly speak of their future in tired voices, agreeing to try and keep going for as long as they can, and then sleep next to each other peacefully.

Downstairs, a certain Frenchman and Englishman laugh and wander off into the garden, earning them uproarious applause from those left behind. Then Japan and Belgium leave in two different directions, trying to just go to sleep. A loud Scotsman leaps up, does something stupid, and knocks himself out by accident, earning laughter from his Welsh brother and colonial nephews as he passes out on the floor. Then the American grabs the Australian’s hand and drags him away, leaving the New Zealander and the Welshman alone with the unconscious Scotsman.

Kyle laughs as Alfred drags him away. No words need to be said.

It isn’t victory on the other’s lips that Kyle tastes this time. It’s alcohol. But he doesn’t care, laughing as the American drunkenly tries to kiss him.

Eventually, they fall asleep in each other’s embrace, laughter the last thing they hear before they drift off to sleep.

***

Russia was still there the day the peace talks began, content to keep himself hidden in the library while the others arrived. He was weak, but he wasn’t blacking out, and that was improvement enough that they had managed to pull Matthew away from Ivan for the day.

Kyle and Avery had dressed in their formal military uniforms rather than the suits Arthur had recommended. It was an acceptable alternative, and besides, they were feeling rebellious. America was wearing a nice suit, though, as were many of the others.

The Central Powers walked in. Germany and Prussia were side by side in the front, Austria and Hungary behind them, followed by Ottoman.

The Turk stopped briefly by the pair from the Southern Hemisphere, looking like he wanted to say something.

Kyle felt his whole body stiffen, and before he even realized what he was doing, he had stepped forward and in front of Avery, his arms crossed over his chest, and a scowl on his face.

He heard England telling him to stand down, but it was as distant as the first boom of thunder, before even the rain arrives. But Sadiq decided to break the stance.

He nodded politely to the pair, turned, and followed his allies into the hall they were being lead to, where they would stay during the talks. Kyle felt his body relax, tension dripping away. It had been a slight breach of etiquette, but not enough to cause repercussions.

And within moments of them disappearing, Arthur was there in front of him.

The slap came flying at him, and Australia felt it land on his cheek, surprised and reeling in shock.

“I ordered you to stand down! They’re here for peace! There’s nothing he would do-”

Kyle stopped hearing what he was saying, focusing on the pain of the slap, and then bringing his body to his full height, turning back towards Arthur, who was still yelling at him.

He felt Zea try to grab the back of his shirt, and he heard Scotland shouting for England to leave him alone right fucking now, but all of that was in the distance.

His vision went red.

Next thing he knew, he had run forward screaming, and Arthur was slammed into the wall on the other side of the hall, and his raised fist was slamming into Arthur’s face.

He was screaming, unintelligible words of anger and rage. He could hear the others yelling, and perhaps a few of their enemies had worked their way back to the main hall to see what the hell was happening, but Kyle didn’t care as he raised his hand again, the blow landing in England’s nose this time. England’s hands shot up, trying to shove him off, but a rush of anger caused Kyle to slam them down, and he landed a blow in England’s stomach.

Arthur must have sensed he wasn’t going to be able to stop this former colony on his own without hurting him, or maybe the Brit’s strength was lessened after the war. But his hands darted up to protect his face, and Kyle pulled him forward only to slam him backwards into the wall, one hand grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, only moments away from grabbing him by the throat.

He had done that a few more times, hearing a crack or two of bones when he felt hands in the back of his shirt, but as he was pulled back, he tightened his grip on Arthur’s collar.

Then Scotland was there, trying to pull England away from him, but Kyle kept him held tight, screaming and as he was lifted off the ground, he pulled his legs tight to his chest.

The final move Kyle used was one he had loved watching. Something ancient, but hard to use except in cases like this.

His feet went flying out, and nailed Arthur right in the chest as he let go of his collar. Both Art and Alasdair went flying backwards, Alasdair striking the wall himself, but blunting the blow to his brother. Kyle felt himself grin at the use of a ‘Kangaroo Kick’, even as the person holding him stumbled and fell.

But then Alfred turned him around, having been the one desperately pulling them apart, and he felt his grin fade. Alfred was shouting, screaming. He saw Avery being held back by Owen from rushing to his aide. He saw Francis staring in horror. He saw the Central Powers, standing there in shock at the discord in the Allied ranks. And when Alfred let go of him, he stumbled and fell. The American quickly began to reach for him again, anger turning to worry.

And then a gloved hand pushed Alfred back, a silent figure kneeling in front of him.

There was silence that descended. An eerie silence as Ottoman Empire knelt in front of the Commonwealth of Australia. Kyle felt Alfred draw back, unsure what to do.

Fear filled him, and he tried to scramble backwards. England had said the Turk wouldn’t hurt him, and he knew that to be true, but what was Sadiq trying to do?

And then a small figure was in front of him.

Avery stood over their older brother, laying prone on the floor, and then spoke in a language Kyle barely knew, but recognized.

"Kardeşimden uzak durun." _Step away from my brother._ Avery growled at the Turk, trying to ignore the pure chaos. Arthur was coughing, and likely had broken ribs and lord knew what else, but Avery only focused on protecting the Australian.

Sadiq stood and spoke. "Özür dilerim, Yeni Zelanda: Ben ya da Avustralya'ya zarar vereceğim anlamına gelmiyordu sadece kendi evimi savunuyordum." _My apologies, New Zealand. I didn't mean you or Australia harm. I was only defending my own home._

Avery sighed as they gave their reply. “"Biliyoruz, tartışmamız seninle değil, İngiltere ile, gerçeği konuşacağız Sadık." _We know. Our quarrel is not with you. It is with England. We will speak the truth, Sadiq._

"Teşekkür ederim." _Thank you._ Sadiq said, and then rose. Avery turned, and slowly helped their brother to their feet. Kyle had caught just enough words in Turkish to guess at what Sadiq was trying to do.

They stood there, and then Sadiq lowered his eyes, although he kept his head held high. His voice was soft.

"Üzgünüm." _I’m sorry._

Avery glanced at Kyle, who took a deep breath, and then responded with one of the few Turkish phrases he knew.

"Ben olduğum gibi." _As am I._

There was a silent understanding. Sadiq nodded, and then walked back towards the other Central powers. Hungary said something that neither of them heard, but Sadiq responded, and then the others slowly followed him, leaving the Allied nations to their quarrel.

And as soon as they were gone, New Zealand slapped Australia, who allowed that to fly.

“I did deserve that one.” He said, and saw Belgium, Japan, and the Italies staring at him in pure shock at what he had just done.

“Oh, you deserve a hell of a lot more than that, Kyle David Kirkland!” Avery snapped. “But I think I’ll leave that up to the others.” The Kiwi marched back to Wales. “I need a cigarette and coffee. Come with me?”

Wales turned towards Scotland, who had propped England up against the wall, the pom close to unconsciousness.

“Get everyone who doesn’t need to be here gone, Owen. Matthew, can you tend to Art?”

Matthew nodded, coming over. “Of course.”

Owen grabbed Avery’s shoulder, and then called for the Italies, Belgium, and Japan to follow him, which they did, leaving France, England, Canada, Scotland, Australia, and America alone.

And Scotland stormed over, shoving Kyle back down.

“You’re one stupid sonuvabitch, Australia.” He growled. “He’s the head of your Commonwealth!”

Some of the anger came seeping back. “You weren’t there, Scot!”

“No, I wasn’t at Gallipoli! And neither was he!”

“And that’s the problem! HE SENT US THERE TO DIE FOR HIM!”

Arthur weakly looked up from where he was, and Matthew glanced back.

“We fought and died, and you never came. You never fucking came. And now… Now you have the gall to tell me when I can and can’t protect my sibling. Sadiq was only defending his home. You… you were murdering us. And one day… one day I hope you have to understand how that feels.”

And then he turned and ran.

Alfred was following him, and he could hear shouting, but he ran until he had gotten himself lost in the palace. A horrible urge to retch overcame him again. Guilt and anger, tied up with the fucked up family dynamics of nations… He almost collapsed once more in a hallway, kneeling and feeling his body fight him.

And then gentle hands were rubbing his back. He glanced up to see Ivan.

He had lost himself near the library. Russia had found him.

“Let it out. Don’t keep it in.” Ivan said, not meeting his eyes, but letting him know he was there.

He didn’t have any words left to scream when Alfred finally found him.

***

Alfred waited until Kyle was asleep in his room to go and check on Arthur.

Matthew gave the verdict.

“Three broken ribs, broken nose, massive bruises, and a cracked skull, but he should be fine soon enough. I expect three to four days to heal.”

“Can I see him?” Alfred finally asked.

“He’s been asking for you.” Canada said, and let him in.

Arthur sat up when he saw Alfred. “How is he?”

“Asleep. Ivan found him about to be sick. Hope Francis didn’t like that carpet too much.”

Arthur snorted. “He’ll probably yell at me when he finds out.”

There was silence, and then Arthur started again.

“Alfred, I-”

“He’s never going to be that little boy again, Art.” Alfred interrupted. “He… He grew up while you weren’t watching. In 1908, I found a curious teenager, but war… this war… it forced him to become a man. He still loves you, don’t get me wrong. But Arthur, every time he closes his eyes, he sees Avery dead. And he blames you for that.”

Arthur was silent.

“He needs time. He needs space. And he needs you to stop treating him like the petulant child. He’s independent now, and he’s an adult. He needs to be able to do things on his own, without feeling like he’s always under your shadow, being watched and judged for every action he takes.”

“I never mean to make him feel that way, Alfred. But he’s always been- always _was_ a difficult child-”

“No, Arthur, he was a child who reminded you of me.” Alfred said, and that stopped England cold.

The silence said it all.

“You wanted to keep him safe. Keep him yours. You were afraid he was going to break your heart the same way I did. So you kept him close. You kept him tight in your hand. But he grew, and he grew too fast, just like me. How did you react when he asked to be independent, Arthur?”

There was silence, and then England sighed.

“I… I flew into a rage.”

“Did you do that with Matthew?”

“No.”

“And New Zealand when they asked a few years later?”

“No…”

“He knows why. He knows he reminds you of me. Arthur, he feels like the outsider. Unwanted, a replacement for what you had lost. He’s been ignoring it for years. But add on the guilt over Gallipoli and the loss of life. Add on the shell shock that has only worsened with resurrection. Add on that this is the first war he has been in. And then, add on a series of personality traits that can make him quick to anger and hard to pacify, and then consider what he did today. Sadiq stepped towards them. His protective instincts told him to protect Zea. He never drew his weapon, and the conflict was peaceful, until you ordered him to stand down and then hit him for not doing just that. Even though he is not your colony anymore, Arthur, and therefore doesn’t have to take orders from you. He did nothing to endanger our chances of success. You were the one who did that, by striking him.”

Arthur looked down.

“He’s never going to be your little boy again. You’ve been trying to keep him that way. Let him go, Arthur. He’s got to fly on his own now, and if you want to remain in his life, you’re going to need to let him.”

“What would you recommend I do?” Arthur asked, lost.

Alfred took a deep breath before responding.

“Let him know that if he needs you, he can always come to you, but let him also know you recognize him as a man now, and that as a man, he has his own rights and decisions. But you will always be there to love him and guide him if he wants to seek those things out.”

Arthur nodded, and Alfred turned to leave.

“Alfred?”

Alfred stopped, but he didn’t turn to face Arthur. “Yes?”

“I… I’m sorry that I never gave you the chance to present your arguments to me. I… I should have…” His voice faltered.

“I’m not.” Alfred said. “I didn’t know what I was getting into, Arthur, but I had my reasons for independence, and I was just like a certain parental figure. I was stubborn and pigheaded.” Alfred turned. “And so is he. I’d say we both get it from you.”

Arthur snorted. “I’d say he gets it from Scot.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a family trait.” Alfred said with a laugh, and then turned and left.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Matthew, who was sitting there quietly, obviously having heard their conversation.

“Mattie bro?”

Matthew turned.

“Do you… do you think my words will make any difference?”

Matthew nodded. “Alfred… they already have.”

***

Kyle said nothing when a few days later, after breakfast, England sat down across from him at the table. The start of their talks had been delayed until Arthur was healed, which took about three days given the way the bodies of nations responded to injury. They were taking one more day of rest today, and then they would begin.

The table emptied out, and finally it was just them. Kyle kept his eyes in his lap, silent.

“Kyle, I-” Arthur stopped, and took a deep breath. “I know that this won’t make anything different, but-” He seemed frustrated now. “I just-”

Silence fell.

“You’ve grown up. And I’ve been pretending not to see, because I was hurt long ago, and I didn’t want to be hurt again. But in the process, I just hurt both of us. And I hurt Zea. They’ve been watching us and that’s hurt them as much as it’s hurt you. I deserved what you did to me. I’ve deserved all the things you’ve said and done.”

There was more silence. Kyle kept his eyes downwards.

“I know that our pride will make an immediate apology more of an excuse than having any real meaning, but it’s time for me to let you stand on your own. I just want you to know that… that if you need me… for guidance, or help, or anything else, I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you.”

And then Arthur rose and walked to the door. Kyle took a deep breath before speaking.

England stopped and turned. “What?”

“I love you too, dad.” Kyle said again, and then added another phrase. “Now piss off.”

A snort of laughter from the pom. “I thought I heard you insult me. I’ll see you tomorrow at the talks, Kyle.”

Things weren’t good. But Kyle prayed they were going to get better.

Then Avery was there again, taking his hand.

“Let’s go for a walk, Ky.”

He nodded, and followed them.

***

A few days later, and deep into the talks, Alfred pulled Kyle aside one night.

“Ky, it’s time to tell him.”

Kyle groaned. “Alfred, I-”

“Look, he has to know. He’s going to react worse the longer we keep it quiet. If we tell him now, he’ll probably accept it.

Kyle sighed. “Just… a little more time.”

Alfred sighed. “Alright. A little more time.”

The days passed quietly. And then, one afternoon, Francis, running the meeting, stood up.

“There has been a question of possible crimes among the personifications at Gallipoli. The only three personifications to have fought there were Ottoman, Australia, and New Zealand. New Zealand, do you wish to give testimony on the events, written or oral?”

“I have an oral testimony.” Avery said, pulling out their notes.

Francis turned to Kyle next. “Australia, do you wish to give testimony, either written or oral?”

“I do not.” Kyle said.

“Ottoman, do you have a prepared statement to give ahead of the testimony of the personification of New Zealand?”

“No.”

“Then we may proceed.” Francis said, and then turned. “Do any wish to leave?”

It was for him. He knew it was. Kyle nodded, rising.

Francis turned to Kiku, who was taking notes. “Have it noted that the personification of Australia has decided to abstain from hearing the testimony and response. After this, we will be finished for the day, and all may retire.”

Kyle knew their eyes rested on him.

He fled.

His heart raced as he sought out the only personification who wasn’t attending the meeting.

Russia turned when he entered. Ivan hadn’t had an incident since the broken vase, but he was keeping himself isolated, more so now with the Central powers present. But he paused, and then brought Kyle some tea.

“They are speaking of Gallipoli today?”

Kyle nodded, and took the tea. Ivan sighed.

“Wars are terrible, Australia. I… I will not know the outcome of my current one for years, I think. But I can tell you this. You have already survived the worst.”

“Every night… every night, we dream of each other’s death.” Kyle said. “I _hurt_ Avery by protecting them.”

“It will eat at you. It always will, to a certain extent. But our minds work just like those of our men, Kyle. It fades. We set it aside. Now, it is always there, but in a few years, the nightmares will no longer come every night. And in a few decades, this war will seem distant. And in a century, when all those who fought in it are gone from this world, only a few moments will stay with you. You will always remember the pain. You will remember those lost. But it will become easier with time, Kyle. It always does.”

Kyle nodded, finishing his tea, and then, after thanking Ivan for the advice, he left.

A few hours later found him outside in a courtyard, smoking in the cold air. He should have grabbed a heavier jacket, but he decided to let the air bite at him. It distracted him from his own thoughts.

He heard voices. The meeting had ended. Belgium walked out and spotted him, and then turned around, leaning inside and speaking to someone before continuing to head towards wherever she had been going.

Kyle saw Alfred step out and walk towards him, and he sighed. The American reached him, and stopped, looking at him.

“Bit lightly dressed for a smoke break, aren’t we?”

“Oh fuck off.” Kyle said, which made Alfred laugh. “Besides, the cold helps me clear my head.”

“I suppose it would be hard to think of much else when your balls must be freezing.”

Kyle gave Alfred a rude hand gesture, and Al laughed, sitting down next to him.

“I want these talks to be over, Alfred. I just want to go home, and for this bloody war to be done.”

“I know.” Alfred said.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Alfred wrapped his arms around Kyle, spreading his jacket out over Kyle’s shoulders.

“If you’re not careful, England will see.” Kyle murmured, but he pressed closer to the American, needing the heat he provided.

“I don’t think you’re that worried about it anymore.”

Kyle supposed that was true. Arthur had been keeping to his word. The distance had been kept, and no apology had been given yet, but Kyle wasn’t sure he wanted one at this point. Arthur had not contradicted or tried to change his words when he spoke at the conference, like he had so many times before. He was letting Kyle come into his own.

“I guess not.” He replied, toying with a loose thread on Alfred’s shirt.

“He’s bound to be out here shortly, looking for us. I think I’ll tell him.”

Before Kyle could come up with a half-hearted excuse, the door opened, and the three UK brothers exited, walking through the courtyard slowly, chatting as they did. Alfred chuckled. “Showtime.” And before Kyle could genuinely object, Alfred had shrugged off his jacket entirely, draping it over Kyle, and then walked towards the three.

Kyle could only watch in horror as Alfred shouted. “England! England, I need to talk to you!”

Arthur stopped, and Alfred quieted down so that Kyle couldn’t hear them from the distance they were at. England said something, and Alfred nodded. Kyle was almost more horrified when he saw that neither Scotland nor Wales was leaving the area.

Alfred was telling them all.

He knew the second that Arthur’s entire body stiffened and he leaned to the side to look past Alfred and at him that he now knew. Wales appeared slightly surprised, glancing at Kyle quickly, and then returning his gaze to Alfred, but Scotland just shook his head, a grin slowly appearing on his face. Kyle wished Alfred’s coat wasn’t quite so… distinctive… as he held it tightly around himself.

In a way, he was expecting to hear England shout, or start some sort of scuffle, but instead Arthur nodded, and then walked past Alfred, headed straight for Kyle.

He came right up to him, and Kyle looked up from where he was seated. Arthur sighed.

“Him? Out of everyone in the world, you had to choose him?”

Kyle looked at England, and for a second, he was a young colony again. There was strength in those limbs. The power of an empire, always holding firm. Even though he could sense that England’s power was starting to wane, he felt a certain sense of pressure to cave in to the power. A pressure that had always been obeyed when he was still a colony.

But he wasn’t a colony anymore. He was the Commonwealth of Australia. Standing tall, he responded.

“I always reminded you of him anyways.”

Arthur seemed startled, and then chuckled. “I suppose that was always obvious.” He shook his head. “You have the same independent streak he did. You just manifested it differently. If anything I could say would stop this relationship… I expect it never would have started.”

He turned to leave, but Kyle reached out and stopped him.

“So you’re… you’re okay with this?”

England turned, a slight smile on his face.

“I know Alfred well enough to know he will never hurt you on purpose. And I know you well enough to know if he does hurt you on purpose, you won’t be giving him the chance to do it a second time. If this is what you want, this is what you want.”

Kyle smiled himself, just slightly. “Love you too, dad.”

Another chuckle rose from Arthur, and then he headed back towards his brothers.

He said something to Alfred, and then spoke to Scotland and Wales. Arthur and Owen began to walk away, but Alasdair stayed there, saying something to Alfred quietly. America seemed surprised, and then nodded in a very respectful manner.

Scotland nodded back, and then looked at Kyle, giving him a big grin along with a thumbs up, before heading after his brothers.

Alfred came back towards him, and then grinned as he pulled out his own cigarette. “Not that hard, was it? Scotland threatened me within an inch of my life, but not that bad.”

Kyle glared before responding. “Hey, jackass? Next time, give me more than three seconds of warning!” He stormed past Alfred, griping and groaning about a self-satisfied Yankee.

It was only when he stepped inside and he saw about six faces turn towards him that he realized he was still wearing Alfred’s jacket.

Francis and Avery shared smirks before Francis spoke. “Is the cat out of the bag now?”

“Oh fuck off!” Kyle snapped, storming towards the kitchen.

He heard the Italies shouting at Japan. “We won the bet! Alfred can somehow keep us in the dark about his romantic endeavors, even if it’s only for a short time!”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but that night at dinner, as the entire table buzzed, Central and Allied Powers alike, Alfred sat down next to him, and tried to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Everyone laughed when the Australian promptly turned and asked New Zealand to trade places with him.

That night, however, as they headed into Alfred’s room again, Kyle felt a certain sense of relief wash over him. Everyone knew. Soon all of the personifications would know. And he didn’t care.

Kyle Kirkland was in love with Alfred F. Jones.

And for right now, that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to tell you when the next work will come out, save by autumn. I have planned four more stories in this series, and finished two of them (unfortunately, those two are in the middle of those four).
> 
> However, I can tell you that if I cannot get the next fic I want to write (set during the Depression and covering the 1920s through flashbacks) written, you will see this series start up again in the middle of WW2, with a work set during Pearl Harbor. As much as I would like some sort of story between this work and the untitled Pearl Harbor work, I will not hold the series up into eternity to finish it.
> 
> The current guess at the number of works in this series is between five and seven. And I can tell you that I will finish this series in 2017.
> 
> Also, I have been debating a series of smaller fics that are more like spin offs from this series focusing on the other characters, so if in the future you see tags such as "set in the Darwin series", that is why. The Darwin series is solely to focus on these two. 
> 
> See y'all when I next see you!


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